


‘Cause they are Both Holy and Free

by Akiko_Yosanos_Spouse



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Character Death, Child Abuse, Death, Gen, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It Gets Better Project, Just to get the dark stuff outta the way, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Necromancy, Physical Abuse, Temporary Character Death, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Verbal Abuse, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Whoever put their real names we need to talk, not that dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:14:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29985483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Yosanos_Spouse/pseuds/Akiko_Yosanos_Spouse
Summary: Tommy died when he was twelve years old. Living on the streets for half of his life can really do that to some kids. The entire week beforehand he spent his waning time huddled in a dark alleyway, coughing his lungs out.Tommy died for a second time a week later.
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy & Sam | Awesamdude, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 5
Kudos: 81





	‘Cause they are Both Holy and Free

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn’t know I wrote a prompt about this but my wifi went out again so I decided to just write the thing myself. 
> 
> Think of this as a pilot episode and tell me what you think.

Tommy died when he was twelve years old. Living on the streets for half of his life can really do that to some kids. The entire week beforehand he spent his waning time huddled in a dark alleyway, coughing his lungs out. 

Tommy died for a second time a week later. His throat, previously completely and healthily having never been in contact with a knife, was slit in what he’ll later dub a “dick move.” A few days later he died again. Then again. Then again. Then more than a couple times after that.

He died for the next four years. 

Honestly, Tommy understands why. He’s good for business, a completely normal human boy that can die in any way and be brought back like magic. And it is. Magic, that is. At least, that’s what he’s told, but Tommy never bothered to check. It’s likely seeing as there’s no other way for him to be alive, but there’s still a small chance that that’s just his caretaker screwing with him. 

Despite everything, Tommy would say he has a pretty good life. He’s got a relatively easy schedule to follow, food in his stomach, a roof over his bed, and a place to sleep. 

He just also has to die a lot.

Like right now. He’s dead right now. That’s why he’s thinking of all of this-- to pass the time of being, ya know, dead. Which, by the way, lasts a while. In what was call the “experiment stage” with his caretaker/employer/ the- dude- who- saved- his- life they figured out that a day in the living world is a full month in the afterlife. 

There also happens to be nothing to do in the afterlife. It’s just a bank void of nothing, stretching on for a distance unable to be measured by the human mind. It’s filled with people, but it just takes a while to find them. That’s Tommy’s job, too. Not to just die, but to find the people who the customer wants to be brought back and report to his caretaker on whether they meet the credentials or not.

Ya see, Tommy is a sneaky shady criminal, who makes riches daily with his very cool and awesome skills. Of course, it’s his caretakers job to do all the hard(interesting) stuff that gets to keep all the money, but he’s been told he’ll learn the art soon enough! The very illegal, very painful art of necromancy. 

AN art that’s been passed from master to apprentice over a thousand years, since the great founder of the Arctic Empire unleashed magic onto the world and bla bla bla, Tommy’s already bored. 

“I’m bored,” Tommy adds for emphasis. He’s already found the customers loved one, got all of the information necessary to figure out that, yes, it’s okay for her to be brought back, and it’s only been fifteen days. 

Fuck, it’s only been fifteen days. 

Tommy groans, cursing his existence despite knowing how much his caretaker hates him doing both of those things. Well he’s not dead so Tommy decides that his wants don’t matter right now. He still has nothing to do, though. 

He could always visit-

“No, absolutely not,” Tomy argues with himself. 

But there’s nothing to do.

“He’ll make us play competitive solitaire!” 

That’s something to do, though. 

“And his weird friends will be around! There’ll be so many drugs!”

What’s wrong with drugs?

“Well- Nothing but-”

“Tommy?” He was rudely interrupted. 

“Not now Wilbur. There’s nothing wrong with drugs but-” Tommy paused and slowly turned his head. 

WIlbur Soot in all of his bitch glory stood(stood? He can’t actually see him) before him. 

“Oh you bitch! Not you- I did not want to see you! You are a bitch and you play solitaire and I do not like you! You should go away right now-” 

“Who are you calling a bitch you absolute child, I’ll have you know you were being so loud, an absolute nuisance-”

“Shut up and goawaygoawygoawaygo-”

“No! You are so loud, I came over here to give you some company but instead you’re being so childish! In fact-”

“Oh my god I do not care.” Tommy put his hands over his ears despite not having hands or ears. “I’m dead. I’m mourning my own death and I do not need you here while I am being sad.” 

“This is like the hundredth time you’ve died, I don’t see why you’re only mourning now.” 

“I mourn every time I die and that is why I’m so sad all the time-” 

“You should be quieter if you’re so sad-”

“Shut the fuck up I do not like you at all because you are a bitch.” 

Wilbur didn’t answer. 

“Wilbur-?” 

Nothing. And then- 

“Tommy?” A new voice rings in his head, something that now exists apparently. 

He groans, something that is also too loud, and turns onto his side, head pounding. Everything is too loud, everything is too much. The cold floor boards, the cars from the street, the absolutely horrid taste in his mouth and-

“Dream?” He croaks, looking through bleary eyes to try and catch sight of his caretaker. 

“Welcome back to the living,” Dream greets him loudly, always too loud, always too much. He shuts his eyes again, the light too bright despite how dim the room is. 

Hands force him up, something he’s not quite ready for if the way nausea hits him is any indication. “Did you get the information?”

“Yeah, yeah,” He attempts to wave dream off, only to stumble and lean against the other once again. “Gods, my head hurts- can I get some water?” 

“In a bit, Toms,” He’s guided out of the room into a brighter one, a move that brings tears to his eyes and a harsher headache to his head. “We gotta get through this client first, alright?” 

He hummed absentmindedly, accepting the oak chair he’s set in, dozing off but still way too aware of what’s going on around him. He knows that he should be looking like he’s a regular worker, probably sweeping the floors or some shit, on the off- chance authorities come into this supposedly normal magic shop and find someone obviously newly resurrected, but he can’t bring himself to care. Cut him his slack, he just died. 

Finally, the bell to the shop rings, and Tommy opens his eyes to see a stout, little, old, goat hybrid lady. Either this is the customer Dream was talking about or the police are getting better at undercover missions. Which would be surprising seeing as Dream has a detector for face- changing potions. 

Dream walks up to her with a smile, though, so Tommy assumes she’s not some FBI agent and safely closes his eyes again. The two talk for a bit, probably small talk or something about payment-- Tommy really doesn’t care, before coming up to him. Show time. 

Forcing himself from being slumped over a chair, he tries to look less dead, something surprisingly hard to do after being dead. Dream’s eyebrows are already pinched, a tell-tale sign he’s already pissed at him for his little nap on the job, but Tommy’s headache can’t bring him to care and he just wants to get this over with and get some much needed water. 

“And here’s Theadore, who you saw dead just yesterday. As you can infer, it doesn't matter the age or species, we can bring your sister back.” Dream explained, placing a not at all welcomed hand on his shoulder, something that has Tommy holding back a flinch. 

The old lady hummed, her name Fuzzy or something, before turning to Tommy. 

“How is Cara, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her.” She asks in the way old ladies ask things, with that old voice and that way with no choice to argue with her. It takes a second for Tommy to register the question, though, not quite used to the customers addressing him directly. Normally they’re rich assholes who Dream explains are also mourning and in need of closure after one spat on him. Closure involves letting them go, Tommy grumbles, his choice of words earning him a smack upside his head. 

“She’s, ah-” Tommy started after a not too gentle nudge from Dream. ‘Well, she’s dead,’ his mind supplied unhelpfully. “She’s doing alright. Taken up knitting,” He made up on the top of his head. “Said she likes it up there-” And if Dream’s tightening grip on his shoulder is any indication, he should shut up now. 

“She doesn’t want to come back?” Fuzzy frowned, lines being pulled on her old woman face. 

“Well- no- you see what I meant was-” Tommy started panicking for real now. 

He looked at Dream but he made no move to provide any help. 

Fuzzy turned to Dream, “I think I’ll need some time to think about this, actually. Can I speak to the young man alone, though?” 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I think you should leave.” Dream’s face was no indicator, but there’s a sudden air of danger in the shop. 

“But-”

“We’re closing now,” He ushered Fuzzy or something out the door. “Have a nice day.” He shut the door, the silence deafening as now Tommy was left alone with Dream. 

Tommy’s heartbeat picks up as he scrambles out of the chair, his hands up as he backs away from the slowly approaching man. “Now- now Dream you know I- I didn’t mean to- I didn’t do that on purpose- I’m sorry pleASE-” He yelps in pain as his hair is painfully yanked. 

“I gave you a purpose,” Dream spoke slowly in a low tone of voice, his strides continuing up the stairs of the shop to the living area, ignoring the struggling boy he has by the hair, “You were nothing before me. A good for nothing street rat, destined to contribute nothing to society, and  _ this _ is how you thank me?!” His voice gradually raises in a terrifying crescendo. 

“Dream- Please I’m sorry-” Tommy tries to beg. 

“SHUT UP!” He’s thrown to the ground once they reach the top floor, his head ringing painfully as he tries not to throw up. 

“Why are you so stupid?!” Dream accents the question with a quick kick to his stomach. “You are nothing without me! I am the only one who cares about you, the only one to feed you, the only one to put a roof over your head and clothes on your back and  _ this _ is what I get for it?!” 

Tommy cowers into a ball, sobbing out apologies as Dream continues his rant. 

Finally, the man stops, heaving with anger as he looks down in disgust at the child on the ground. “Go to your room. No food for today or tomorrow.” 

His stomach grumbles in protest but Tommy quickly nods as he stumbles to his feet, practically blindly navigating his way to his room. Finally, he collapses on his blanket, curling up underneath. He reminds himself to remain thankful. Thankful that Dream gave him a second chance at life and thankful that he has protection from the unforgiving cold. 

It’s hard to do that with the way his stomach throbs in pain where it was kicked. 

Gradually, his breath evens out as he falls asleep in his tiny room that’s better known as Dream’s closet. He never did get his water. 

  
  
  
  
  


Elsewhere, an old lady sighs and begins to take off her disguise. Masterfully painted wrinkles are scrubbed away, shauls and a blouse exchanged for jeans and a T-shirt, and a once thought to be old woman turns out to be a young lamb hybrid in her early twenties. 

“What happened?” Her partner questioned, creeper eyes shining. 

“You were right, Sam,” Puffy frowned, “We need help for this case.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Alright there you go


End file.
